


Thirst for Magic

by Laikin394



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle Secret Santa, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 09:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2808089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laikin394/pseuds/Laikin394
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where magic was precious and scarce, Rumplestiltskin enjoyed his position and influence, until one day he felt his powers starting to diminish.</p>
<p>Rumbelle Secret Santa 2014</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirst for Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



In a world where magic was precious and scarce, Rumpelstiltskin, receiving a major slice of it, was convinced he did rather well. He was rich – for magic comes with gold and gold comes with magic; he learnt that young. Unlike other sorcerers who have been gifted since birth, he worked hard to earn a fortune and spent it all to find himself a teacher. It was a waste, of course, as magic cannot be taught to those who do not have a spark of it inside, but he was stubborn. Years of search and even more of trial and error led him to the hut of an ancient half-mad warlock in the middle of Murderous Forest, who gave up his abilities for Rumpelstiltskin’s sake. The old man laughed on his death bed, claiming the only regret he had was not seeing the lad suffer from his newly acquired cursed strength. He nearly went mad himself as his body fought the unnatural powers while his mind commanded the flesh to contain them. He won, after all, but not until a century later he realized why the warlock laughed at him.

It took him a long time to get used to it, to tame magic and to perfect it. But now he had a castle, substantial wealth and a reputation of the most feared and powerful man in the realm. So yes, thank you, he did quite well. Except that being a wizard meant always being alone. Always, of course, didn’t imply eternity, as no one, apart from magical creatures, is immortal. Frankly, Rumple couldn’t recall exactly how old he was – he stopped counting after the third century that marked the day of his birth.

His human body has suffered some transformations though. He spent so much time in his dungeon that his skin has taken on a peculiar greyish tone, as if magic decided he needed to blend with the stone walls better. His body did feel a bit like stone – the skin was cool and smooth but the flesh underneath was harder. If he stood still and ceased to breathe for a few minutes, he could actually pass for a marble statue. An ugly one and apparently shaped by an unskilled craftsman’s apprentice at that.

But his eyes were probably the worst. He only had himself to blame for it, as the night-vision potion went wrong when he shook off an extra alligator scale into the cauldron. The potion did enhance his sight but also gave him the most eerie reptilian eyes. Rumpelstiltskin has tried to get rid of them, but all solutions remained temporary. He just gave up, finding perverted pleasure in staring at people until they reddened in the face and stuttered, shaking in their boots as his unmoving glare.

Yet some of his fellow acquaintances, gifted with magic, could tell an entirely different story. Regina, for example, was pushing her 90’s but still looked refreshingly young, not older than 30. The rumor said after a failure at her love life, the witch ripped out her own heart and froze it, which had stilled the time for her. Other offsprings of old powerful families used this or that trick to appear beautiful or at least decent-looking; Rumple could swear he had never seen a naturally pretty hag. It seemed they all came with hooked noses and crooked teeth, which were later fixed by potions, spells and salves.

Appearances, deceiving or not, where not _that_ important after all. As any self-respecting wizard (and Rumpelstiltskin was normally of a very high opinion of himself compared to an average warlock) knew mirrors were dangerous magical objects, so the man was spared of having to scowl at his reflection daily.

Wizards and witches were forced into solitude not for their looks, but because of the problems in finding a mate. There was a slight inconvenience due to their decreasing numbers, of course, but few marriages took place due to a secret any wizard baby knew as well as a spell to summon their mother. Once a witch and a sorcerer engaged in sexual intercourse, their powers were transferred to a dominant partner, a magically stronger one. Even though the universe demanded balance and their children would inherit a great part of their combined magic, few of the wizard folk loved their partners, trusted them or were brave enough (foolish enough, as Rumple mused) to swap their powers. Especially since it left so much room for manipulation.

Certain warlocks – incubi - usually male, although females could be quite successful at this as well, used the act to trick others and obtain their magic. The ability to multiply their powers in this way had served to increase the natural distrust of witches and wizards.

Rumpelstiltskin had experienced it. He romanced a pretty witch, fully aware she was no match for him and no harm to his powers could come from that union. He wasn’t madly in love and neither was Cora; their relationship began mostly due to boredom. It was nice to be around her but she quickly slipped out of his mind once she left his sight and he never recalled missing her or eagerly initiating a meeting. When she offered to take things further and invited him to lay with her, he agreed. But he underestimated her. Rumpelstiltskin may have been stronger, but Cora’s potential for wickedness went far and beyond imaginable. What she went through to find that particular artifact and the spell, he will never know, but as soon as their touches turned intimate, he felt it. Instead of heated fight of their powers, he detected a cold alien pull of her magic, tangling around his essence and yanking. He fled, scared, angry and confused, when he realized what was happening. Cora pestered him, telling it was just his imagination and promising him the world, but he knew better. Rumple disposed of the threat, banishing Cora into a different realm through a magic mirror, content, she could never find her way back without his help.

Limited in choice of their own kind, magic people never married mortals. It was an unspoken taboo, which didn’t go further than “do not do that”. Highborns suggested they sooner die than allow a filthy commoner lay a finger on them; others merely shrugged and reasoned it would be silly to invest feelings into someone who would die ages before you grow old. As an unconventional wizard, Rumple simply had to fall for a mortal girl.

Milah – the girl he chose to wed – was quiet and shy, but always had a smile for him. Alas, the magic quickly poisoned their happiness. It seemed once he bedded her and his magic found it was fooled, for no battle of power between a dominant and a weaker partner followed, it found another way. It began feasting on Milah’s life powers, sucking the energy out of her. Naturally, he stopped sharing the bed with his wife, but she was desperate for children. Rumple loved her, he wanted her and her pleas were not something he could dismiss easily.

She gave birth to a baby boy, but died three years later. He was heartbroken, grieving her like he never mourned the loss of his family. Even when Baelfire was seven, the longing didn’t stop. He wanted her back and he planned to summon her ghost, if he failed to resurrect her. For better or for worse, his son put an end to those experiments, reminding him of the real life, when he was needed. Bae was murdered in a fight when he barely reached 19 and although little more than a pile of ashes remained of the village, it was small comfort.

If Rumpelstiltskin was a more courageous man, he would cease his life to end the misery, yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Time had softened the edges of his sorrowand he’d gotten used to being on his own. He felt like now no one could pull him out of his shell and he could barely stand being around people, where he had to put on a mask of confident evil bastard he no longer felt he was. Besides, he never minded celibacy. He was mighty and famous, devoting his life to collecting things and causing mischief when he desired.

Except that the next few moon he felt his powers starting to diminish.

He knew it was no mistake. It signaled that a sorcerer was born. A new one, who required powers. And since magic in the world was limited and as Rumpelstiltskin got the lion share of it, to balance things off the universe decided to feed the newborn with his magic.

It meant that the next full moon he would attend the wizard gathering.

***

Rumpelstiltskin dressed meticulously. He was aware that behind his back, everyone whispered he had some weird leather fetish or that he had horrific sores that leaked acidy puss that made him cover himself from head to toe. He never did anything about the gossip; let them fear him even more. The truth was that dragon-hide, despite being insanely rare (when was the last time you saw a dragon?) and not so comfortable to wear, provided excellent protection. Rumple was not about to walk into a circle of warlocks, ready to sink their teeth into his power, without a decent shield.

It might have been simpler if the Act had not been signed, he mused. A dozen centuries before his time, sorcerers and magic creatures signed a pact that magically prohibited them to kill each other. Of course with time a loophole here and there could be found, but it was a rule, deeply set in mind of every practitioner: no harm could be directly caused to another magic being. Hiring someone to do it or arranging a sequence of events that could lead to the demise of a perceived enemy was an entirely different matter, of course.

He arrived last, as was fitting for a recognized leader. When he entered the circle, Zelena immediately plastered herself at his side. Rumpelstiltskin wrinkled up his nose at the heavy cloak of perfume around the witch. He could smell the undertone of pheromones that were supposed to awaken lust and although he did feel slightly affected, he made sure it wasn’t known.

“Rumple, my dragon,” she cooed her voice ingratiating and honey-coated and he groaned internally. “Such a delight to see you!”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?” He shook her arm off, flattered by attention nevertheless. In truth, despite getting her name from the unpleasant green undertone of her skin, Zelena was quite attractive. Rumpelstiltskin would be tempted – she was decently young and skilled, besides, her fascination worked wonders for his ego, yet there was a problem. The misfortunate Cora was her mother and the sorcerer worried the incantation she used to nearly drain him may have been passed on to her daughters.

“Oh yes, we’re overjoyed to have Your Greatness bestow your beauty on us,” sneered Regina from her seat, another spawn of Cora’s.

He pretended not to hear yet made a mental note to slip some itching powder into his next letter to her. Just to be a prick.

“What have you been doing, my dragon?” Zelena went on, paying no mind to his earlier remark but at least keeping her hands to herself this time. “Working on something poisonous and deadly, I reckon.” She cackled at her own lack of wit, a high pitched and screeching sound that made his skin crawl. Rumpelstiltskin failed to see the humour but raised a corner of his mouth in case others found it amusing.

He sat in his chair – a large throne-like thing on the pedestal at the further end of the room, right opposite the main doors so that any visitor made no mistake of realizing who was in charge. The chair shifted and accommodated to hold his body in the most comfortable way and he just leaned back and crossed his legs. Despite the relaxed appearance, his eyes were quite alert and narrowed, taking in everyone in the room.

There were only a dozen of them and the appearance of the new (thirteenth) member seemed strangely ominous. He wondered if others could feel it too – the newborn’s demand for powers that steadily but not too hungrily reached into their magic. He scanned the room, offering a slight nod to the wizards who caught his eye, although none dared to sustain the eye-contact for too long. It would probably look odd to an outsider – it was the most ill-assorted gathering imaginable. Some were wearing capes and pointy hats, to fit the stereotypes; others held staffs and wands, probably too weak to do without the help of a conductor. Many had pendants and rings and all kinds of amulets, although Rumpelstiltskin knew most of them were just for a show. Brockett had a hawk perched on his shoulder; he claimed the animal was his familiar and possessed a part of his soul. Rumple believed that the only use of the bird was its fertilizing abilities – Brokett’s shoulder was always generously covered by its droppings.

He detected the movement out of the corner of his eye but when he turned, he was surprised to see Zelena instead of old Arthur Woodcroft.

“Just look at the moss-covered lizard and the toad,” came the whisper from the opposite side before he even opened his mouth to ask what the witch was doing in the other member’s seat. Regina leaned over to Maleficent, her “horny” friend, making sure she spoke loudly enough for Rumpelstiltskin to hear. “I shiver to imagine what their fucklings would look like.”

Rumpelstiltskin gritted his teeth, feeling a vein throb in his temple; there was only so much taunting he could take.

“Then it’s sheer dumb luck we shall never get to see yours,” he offered slowly. The room went quiet even though he barely raised his voice and Regina paled so much (especially in contrast with her black eye shadow) that it looked like she might faint.

It was a low blow and he knew it. She once made a mistake for falling in love so deeply, she wanted to willingly sacrifice her powers to her love. She tried pouring her magic into him when they coupled, but it was too much, too fast and it killed him. The young man’s family cursed her, even though she mourned the loss of her loved one even more than they did. Rumors travelled fast and now everyone knew she was infertile and nicknamed a Black Widow by her sister; a name she would incinerate anyone on the spot for if called that to her face.

Nobody spoke after that, the subject too sensitive to develop and knowing that Rumpelstiltskin’s short temper should not be tampered with. Zelena propped herself on the armrest so that her hand nearly brushed Rumple’s, as if by accident, as they awaited the introduction of the new wizard.

Traditionally, a proud parent would carry his magical child, presenting him or her for the blessing of the head sorcerer. Rumpelstiltskin usually ignored that duty, but this time he was curious as to the identity of the newborn.

The doors opened and a girl walked in – short and likely too young to have a child, but she carried no basket with her. Did she leave the baby outside? She looked around, cautious how out of place she was in her light blue dress among the impressive dark capes and leathers and chose to glance at her feet instead, unsure of what to do next. Yet nobody said a word and she made few steps forward, approaching Rumpelstiltskin in the resemblance of a throne.

As she walked, the whispering began and Rumple suddenly realized that there was no newborn, that this slip of a girl _was_ one and he shifted it his seat, grasping the armrests leaning forward slightly.

She stopped before him but didn’t dare raise her eyes, studying the gems in the rings on his long clawed fingers.

“Kneel, you insolent child!” Zelena squealed, “And introduce yourself.”

The girl obediently dropped down on the floor.

“I am Isabelle French of Avonlea, daughter of Sir Maurice, ruler of the land,” she informed the shiny tips of Rumpelstiltskin’s boots.

“Up,” he commanded and she gracefully rose to her feet but avoided looking at his face, her eyes studying his ringed fingers. It wasn’t even his conscious decision, but the plans had begun forming in his head. Certainly, the girl, unspoiled and new, would interest many. Most likely, Regina would want to play with her, making her an ally and he imagined the fruits of her influence. The girl would soon start wearing black instead of blue and line her eyes heavily. Perhaps, she’d master a cold stare and a scornful smirk, and when she’d come into full power, the witch would challenge her.

Zelena placed a hand on his thigh, too high to be decent, as she bent over to whisper something in his ear but he didn’t catch her words. The girl in front of him blushed vivid scarlet, watching the woman’s palm give his leg a squeeze and he realized that she, most likely, was a virgin. That was just perfect. What a lucky coincidence. He would have to take things slow, try to win her over with gifts and possibly don a disguise of some handsome prince. Zelena’s hand crawled up his thigh and he jumped up, repulsed, before it could reach his crotch. Everyone in the room glanced at him and he tried to keep his face neutral.

“You will come with me to my Castle as my apprentice,” he said nonchalantly to justify standing up and everyone in the room began talking at once. It sounded like a rustle of waves that washed on the shore but he didn’t listen to their objections. He looked into the girl’s eyes, immensely blue and wide, guarded but not yet scared to full extent, even though her lips were white from where she bit them.

“Quiet,” he snarled, barely raising his voice but the silence that fell was almost deafening. “Anyone who wishes to change my decision, can speak up now and we will take it out in a duel.” Rumpelstiltskin slowly allowed his amber eyes to sweep around the room but everyone hid his glance. Everyone, except for Regina. She squinted her eyes and he arched an eye-brow at her challengingly, yet she just pursed her lips and crossed her arms in front of her. Well, well, just look at that; the Evil Queen could learn.

“But you cannot leave now,” Zelena protested, the sentence ending in an almost hysterical squeak. “There still things to be discussed at the gathering!”

“What I can and I cannot do, lies beyond your abilities to comprehend. Come,” he bid, stepping down and wrapping his arm around the girl’s slim waist possessively. She sucked in a breath, but followed after him nevertheless. He unhurriedly took them outside and the girl was strangely quiet; a pleasant change from an endless string of questions or wailing he anticipated.

“Hold on tight,” he grinned, when they stepped outside the line of protective spells and he yanked her closer as the magic thickened around them, transporting him to the Castle.

Belle blinked several times at the bright lights in the living room. It was richly furnished, deep burgundy and gold highlights dominating the space. While she stood there, gaping, Rumpelstiltskin switched his attention to a silver tray with a tea pot and cups that stood in the center of the oak table.

“Sit, relax, make yourself at home, dearie,” he offered warmly. “Tea? Or do you prefer the blood of the newborns?” She stared at him with round eyes and he giggled at her confusion. “Let’s take things slow for now; tea it shall be.”

She lowered herself onto a sofa in front of the fireplace, smoothing her skirts and watching him like she was ready to spring up and flee at any moment.

“Are you afraid of me, lamb?” he chuckled, pouring tea into the cups.

“I am not a lamb, sir, and I am not afraid. My name is Belle,” she said haughtily, lifting her chin in defiance and his smile widened at her ostentatious bravery. She was staring at him boldly, somewhat startled by his looks but not as intimidated as he expected.

“What a silly name,” he sneered and huffed when she knit her eyebrows together. Feisty when one on one, wasn’t she? “Well, I am no _sir_ either. Call me what you shall – the demon, the spinner, the imp.”

“Don’t you have a given name?” she asked.

“That one was lost long ago. Now I am known as Rumpelstiltskin only to few, but even less dare speak it out loud.”

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she repeated, tasting the word as it rolled on her tongue and he nodded at her.

“At your service.”

She gave him a tiny smile, relaxing a little as if knowing his name gave her confidence.

“Is it true that you are the greatest collector of magic in the realm?” she questioned, curiosity seeping into her voice.

“Ah, so my reputation precedes me. Excellent.”

“Um, no,” she blushed and his brow shot up in surprise as he turned to look at her. “I was told that by the man who brought me to the meeting,” she confessed.

“Straight forward, aren’t you? Honesty is good but not among our kind. Yes, it is all true – I am the most powerful sorcerer you could ever come across in this world.” He left out the part about his receding magic, that soon would be fixed anyways.

“And you are going to teach me all you know?”

“That remains to be seen.” Strangely enough, he liked talking to the girl, it was… refreshing. Perhaps, he ought to keep her after he was done with her – she was intelligent enough, pleasing to the eye and he could do with some company. He could keep her as a cook or just help or turn her into a doll once he was done with her.

Suddenly, a wicked idea crept into his mind and fully aware of being watched, he made a move, shaking his hand over her cup as if he spilled something to it. Her quiet gasp indicated she caught him doing it, but he kept his face straight and he carried the tray to the fireplace, setting it on a low table and taking his cup before leaning back in his tall throne-like arm chair (he did have a thing for royal-looking seats, after all). Belle eyes her cup suspiciously and he hid his smirk, taking a sip of his brew.

“Aren’t you going to enjoy you tea, dearie?” he pouted when she made not move to touch the cup he offered.

“What’s in it?” she perked up but he waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Some harmless herbs, I am not trying to poison you.”

She looked at him and he didn’t divert his eyes, returning her stare just as boldly.

“Thank you, Rumpelstiltskin, but I do not find myself thirsty,” she replied politely in an attempt to dodge his offer.

“Drink it,” he commanded, letting the steel show in his voice.

“But…”

“You either want to stay as my apprentice, in which case you do as I tell you, or I shall make you leave the Castle into the night and wish you luck trying to find your way home. Choose wisely, dearie,” he drawled menacingly and the look she gave him came close to ferocious. Belle huffed but took the cup, carefully blowing on it and watching the surface ripple under her breath. She still appeared hesitant and he nearly burned her with his stare. Swallowing uneasily, she finally pressed the golden rim to her lips, tilting it and tasting the fragrant liquid. The girl closed her eyes, feeling an odd cooling tingle in the back of her throat left by the tea.

“ _Now_ may I ask what was in the cup?” she asked as the unfamiliar taste still lingered on her tongue.

“Oh, nothing serious. Just the truth serum with some muscle relaxant. You are so tense, dearie.”

“But I would tell you whatever you wanted to know even without that.”

“Yes, yes,” he hissed, putting his cup aside, “but now you certainly do not have another choice.”

Rumpelstiltskin stood up, coming behind the sofa she was sitting on. He liked when he wasn’t seen, it always made people nervous and he enjoyed their fidgeting.

“Shall we try again, sweetheart?” he whispered. “Do I terrify you?”

“N-no,” she stuttered. To his surprise, his little trick worked better than he anticipated. The girl’s body relaxed and she slouched a little, sinking into the soft upholstery of the chain and she practically radiated magic, her gift unused and too new for her to control it. Drawn to it, Rumple bent down, longing to feel the warm rays of her power on his cool skin. Whether it was magic or just her, the girl smelled delicious – it wasn’t some chocking artificial perfume like Zelena’s, but a subtle clean smell with an undertone of cinnamon that made his nostrils flare. The girl gasped and bit her lip as his dark curly hair softly brushed against her cheek; the man was lost in her scent, looming over her carelessly enough so that their faces nearly touched. He drew away a little to give her a curious look.

“Oh? Then what do you think of me?”

Belle sighed, her eyes fluttering close, most likely repulsed by his proximity yet her features were serene. She arched her back a little, exposing her fascinatingly pale throat and the smooth skin of her modest cleavage as she thought her answer over.

“You are… different. Intriguing, but not dangerous.”

“Oh-ho, dearie, that might be your biggest mistake,” he murmured into her ear and to his surprise the girl made a sound that could be interpreted as a moan and her fingers gripped the arm rest hard enough for her knuckles to turn white yet she didn’t attempt to get away.

“What… what have you done to me?”

“Hmm?” Rumpelstiltskin got too distracted by the way she squirmed, missing out what she was trying to say. Her blue eyes snapped open, misty and confused, locking with his above her.

“I feel… funny. Too… too warm,” she said a little breathlessly and he hummed. “My skin… tingles,” she confessed. Now _that_ was an interesting side-effect.

“Tingles? How?” he questioned, carefully sliding his long finger over the silky flesh of her flushed cheek. The response surprised them both. Belle moaned, exhaling sharply and he felt like sparks shot from where the pad of his index finger connected with her skin. It was unusual at best, but he sensed more power coming from her, thickening the air around them and seeping into him in a way that sent a jolt of excitement down his spine.

Knowing damn well he was pushing his limits, he cupped the side of her face and nearly bit off his tongue when the girl whimpered and leaned into the touch, closing her eyes once again.

“Does this help, dearie?” he asked, his voice low and huskier than he imagined.

“Yes,” she sighed, nudging his palm with her nose and rubbing her face against his coarse skin like she was an overgrown feline. To his shame, his own heart raced and he nearly growled when her small fingers closed around his wrist. She turned his hand upwards and her devilishly soft lips grazed his skin. He could feel the magic, coming from her, prickle his fingertips and he wondered how far he could push her limits to intensify this unorthodox transfer.

“I must assist and see to the lady’s discomfort then,” he said, immediately disgusted at himself for sounding like some kind of pervert. Belle didn’t seem to notice or pay that any mind, giving him a brief nod of permission.

His left hand joined the other one, cradling her face between his palms. She looked so small and fragile compared to his dark clawed fingers and it was both wrong and terrifyingly right. Rumpelstiltskin bent over until his long nose almost touched hers, breathing her in. The girl’s lips parted silently and unable to resist, he brushed his thumb over the curve of her bottom lip. It was impossibly soft, addictively so and he repeated the movement, applying more pressure not to tickle. She raised her other hand, wrapping it around his left wrist and he expected to be pushed away. He didn’t know what he was doing, he wasn’t thinking, giving into the magnetic pull of her body he had no right to be touching. Yet she just nudged the cuffs of his shirt up, lightly tracing her fingers in tantalizing circles on the tender skin of his wrists but not trying to dictate what he ought to do next.

Rumpelstiltskin made a broken sigh and she licked her lips instinctively when the warm puff of air washed over her. It was wrong, she was supposed to scream and kick and run away. She was a virgin and she had to be scared to find herself in the paws of a monster, even if she thought herself bewitched. He nearly laughed at the notion, for at this point who couldn’t tell who enslaved whom. The girl’s breaths were shallow and uneven and she clearly expected him to do something. He liked her warmth and how soft she was in his hands. He liked the modest pink on her face and the contrastingly red lips, but he wasn’t going to kiss her. That would be sentimental and plain silly, but oh he wanted to.

The man knew that luck was on his side. She wasn’t in her full powers but she was ripe enough. Moreover, she was defenseless and trusting in his arms. He could easily snap her neck if he chose to or he could continue with what he was doing and just take her roughly right here on the sofa, stripping her off her clothes and magic he basked in. Whether the rules of her society weren’t that strict or she didn’t care to think, she showed no signs of displeasure at being touched and even welcomed it.

Apparently, she was unaware she could lose her magic if she laid with him or anyone for that matter. Somehow he doubted giving into his caress meant she tried to trick and obtain his power – no one could fake that kind of interest and the way she glowed under him indicated her desire, whether she realized it herself or not, was genuine. Yes, robbing her of magic was safe and would be the wisest decision.

Lost in thought, he stroked his fingers along her jaw absent-mindedly and the girl moaned for real now, tightening her grip on his hands. Wondering how far this game would stretch, he caressed her face, slowly moving down her neck until his fingers rested on her collarbones as his thumbs squeezed and kneaded the pliable flesh of her shoulders.

“Is it helping with that itch of yours, dearie?” he all but purred into her ear, his thin dry lips brushing against the delicate earlobe as his nose was tickled by the dark silk of her hair.

“Y-yes,” she whispered back and if he didn’t know better, he would take it for an attempt at seduction.

Which, of course, it wasn’t, yet it didn’t stop Rumpelstiltskin’s hands from wandering lower. He dragged his nails across her chest, immensely pleased with the pink lines his claws left. She yelped when he tugged her chemise down sharply, grunting when the corset didn’t allow it to go any lower.

“W-wait,” she stuttered and he jerked his hands back. Ah, there it was, the limit he was looking for. There was only that much skin he could touch. However, Belle didn’t think of getting up. Instead, she set her hands on working on the laces of her bodice, skillfully pulling the cords out of their loops until she victoriously had it open in front. “I could never breathe normally in those,” she confessed, leaning back into the chair and tilting her head to look at him.

His lips peeled back in a smile that would probably be best described as sinister when he understood her intentions, but she just smiled back as if she was only too content to have his hands roam her body once again. Without the stiff corset, there was blissfully more flesh showing through the thin shirt and his mouth watered at the sight of the two peaks topped by the darker nipples, pushing against the white cotton.

It was all or nothing, Rumpelstiltskin figured before his large palms closed around them. They fit into his hands perfectly and he made a long rumbling noise, cupping the soft flesh and feeling the pebbles of her nipples press against his skin. Belle echoed him, unconsciously sending another jolt of magic through him and making him weak in the knees. Arousal, sharp and burning, spiraled in his stomach but even through his lust-filled mind, he sensed fear. He had miscalculated. She was powerful, too powerful for him even if she didn’t know it. If he tried to take her, the most likely outcome would be him drained of his magic in the end.

His hands closed tighter around her breasts and she whimpered, thrilled by the intensity with which her body responded. She squirmed and writhed, still feeling too hot despite her upper half being nearly naked. Smug, Rumpelstiltskin repeated the gesture deliberately slow, enjoying the power he had over her and the delicious sounds she was making. He wasn’t entirely in charge but she didn’t realize it yet, he mused, soaking up more of her energy. Furthermore, the girl didn’t experience any discomfort when he fed on her, where normally anyone would display weakness, she seemed to get wound up even more. Well, Rumpelstiltskin decided, he had lived long enough to know sex wasn’t limited to penetration only.

He buried his face in the juncture of her neck and shoulder, intoxicated by her smell and responsiveness. He pinched her nipples and her scream was like music to his ears, stirring his darker and more primal traits. Feeling like the beast he was, he licked her skin. It was artless and probably too wet to be enjoyable, but she yelped and bubbled something he thought was a praise to the gods and a request for more. He did it again, snarling at the saltiness of her skin, nibbling on it and sucking the tender flesh into his mouth, driven by her crescendo moans.

His head was dizzy and his cock throbbed unpleasantly, as a mixture of want and delightful fresh magic pumped through his veins. Belle tilted her head to the left, allowing him more access and buried her shaky fingers in his hair, keeping him in place. Even that innocent touch was driving him insane and he sank his teeth into her shoulder, immediately licking over the uneven edges of the mark his teeth left.

“Oh… oh gods,” she moaned, practically shaking as his rough tongue soothed the sting of the bite, turning it into a dull throb that echoed deep inside her.

His licks could as well be the flames, dancing and sizzling on her skin in the way she never imagined was possible and even though she knew those sensations were induced on her due to the potion, she no longer cared. It was wonderfully sweet and she selfishly craved more; it was all that mattered.

If she thought his hands on her chest felt amazing, the man proved her wrong when they slithered under her chemise. The skin on skin contact made her eyes roll back into her head and she elicited a pathetic needy noise she didn’t suspect she was capable of. Belle lost track of time, her mind dissolving in the gloriously warm caresses and his fingers skillfully rolled and plucked her nipples, turning her bones into water.

She did feel wet and sticky between her legs, so, perhaps, her turning into a puddle was not as much of a metaphor as she believed. She pressed her thighs together and Rumpelstiltskin seemed to notice her trouble, snickering against her skin.

“Are you trying to hide something from me, dearie?” he teased and it took her a moment to register his words. Her lips felt too dry and numb and she licked them, desperately trying to remember how to talk.

“N-no,” she finally rasped. “I am not hiding anything.”

The girl whimpered when those glorious hands left her skin and the man walked around the sofa.

“Show me,” he ordered and she forced herself to open her eyes, looking at him in confusion.

“What?” she asked, puzzled by his request. Rumpelstiltskin looked positively wild with his hair, ruffled by her fingers and his eyes gleaming dangerously with something she didn’t understand.

“Lie down and put your legs over the arm rest.”

Not certain why she obeyed, Belle did as he commanded, hypnotized by his eyes.

“Higher,” he hissed and she wiggled until her backside was on the arm rest, higher than her head on the cushion was. “Perfect,” he praised and she shivered at this almost-compliment.

The man stepped closer, hooking a long digit under the hem of her dress and pulling it up. His eyes studied her hungrily, as he watched her thin ankles being revealed first and then her shins. He dropped the dress when her knees were exposed, sinking onto the carpet next to the sofa. His touch made her jerk but she wasn’t prepared for his warm breath on her leg and she keened, feeling his lips stretch into a smile against her skin.

Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t explain what the hell he was doing even if his life depended on it. He wanted her, one way of the other. He was permitted to touch and lick and bite every delicious place on her he desired and he was drunk on realization, whether it was magic or lust or he just became insane. He was the Dark One and he was used to getting what he set his mind on, and right now he craved to see her helplessly spread before him and fully in his mercy.

He nudged her legs further apart, shamelessly inhaling the musk of her arousal. He knew no one else saw her like this, no one else but him was allowed to touch her so intimately and it spurred him on. He licked the inner side of her thigh, snarling as the skin there was softer and smoother than he thought. His hands sneaked under her skirt, going all the way up to stroke the protruding hip bones and traced the soft edges of the triangle of hair between her legs as she trembled, either from fear or desire. Whichever the case, he was beyond stopping.

Not taking his lips off her heated skin, he managed to push the skirts up, bundling them around her waist. She tried to modestly cover herself but he grunted, roughly slapping her hand aside when it obstructed his view. Oh yes, she was as lovely as he expected, flushed pink and glistening and he impatiently jerked her forward. He wasn’t sure how _exactly_ to do it and Rumpelstiltskin let his instincts guide him. If it was her first time, it was only fair that it was also new for him and he carefully pushed her outer labia apart with his thumbs, exposing her tender swollen folds to him even more.

Belle whimpered as his breath ghosted over the sensitive moist flesh, making her throb and ache dully as her body tightened as a bow string. She didn’t know what she wanted or what had to be done to ease the tension and she mewled softly, turning her head from side to side. He was touching her but it wasn’t enough and her heart raced, beating against her rib cage like she was going to die.

He could hesitate and doubt his technique all he wanted, but he knew he had at least to try. She seemed so delicate and fragile there, that he was almost scared to hurt her with his clumsy fingers. Unable to resist any longer, he experimentally dragged the tip of his tongue along the curve of her pink petals. Belle cried out either in delight or surprise but the noise was covered in his growl as her taste burst on his tongue, rich and bitter-sweet. The next swipe of his tongue was bolder; he dipped it in, lapping up her thick juices before pressing it flat against her and moving it up. He preferred the long unhurried licks, bathing her with his tongue and grunting when it added another layer to the taste of her. It could be only his imagination, but the more he tried, the better it got, her pheromones mingling with magic and stimulating him like no actual touch could.

Belle shrieked when his tongue swirled around the tight bundle of nerves on top of her slit and her hand grasped his hair to keep him in place. He winced as she gave him a rather hard tug when he attempted to move and as a payback, he sucked the little nub into his mouth, repeatedly running his tongue over its side. The girl’s whole body shuddered and he grabbed her hips, squeezing his hands under her bottom to hold her closer to his mouth.

He released her clit, switching to lighter kisses and nibbles, loving how vocal she was in her enjoyment. Magic swirled around him and he thought he was no longer able to feed on any more of it because he would burst, but he cared little about that at the moment. The only power that mattered was the one he exercised over her and he flicked his tongue against her, altering between short teasing strokes and long proper licks.

“P-please,” Belle breathed, not knowing what she was asking for. She shook, her body spasming and her toes curling as the sweet torture went on. She fisted her hand in his thick curly hair, to guide him where she wanted him most, where she needed him so badly it almost hurt.

He finally showed some mercy, nearly burying his face between her legs to the point where he probably couldn’t breathe. He licked at her frantically, hitting just the right spot and the girl squeezed her eyelids together so hard she saw stars. His tongue gently rubbed her and she shivered, the muscles in her stomach tight enough to make her snap in two. Belle felt like she was on the edge of a cliff, about to fly and fall and she was both thrilled and unsettled about what was to happen.

Rumpelstiltskin’s lips closed around her and he sucked, sending her flying indeed and the rush of warmth and light filled her and she burst, her body arching and her mouth falling open in a silent scream. She couldn’t make a sound; the world went blank for a second and then it crashed down on her in a swirl of colour and sounds. She heard something break, possibly a cup and she was aware of Rumpelstiltskin’s sighs as he slowly let her slip out of his mouth.

He pressed a few light kisses on her mound, each of them sending jolts of aftershocks through her and then he stood up. Belle wheezed, still straining to catch her breath and he smirked, wiping his glistening face with the back of his hand. Were she in her right mind, she’d die of embarrassment but she wasn’t anywhere near sanity.

Rumpelstiltskin, in turn, seemed quite confident and collected as his hand dropped to the front of his breeches and he roughly yanked the laces. Mesmerized, she tried to raise on her elbows to see what he was doing better, but he grunted, his right hand giving her shoulder a gentle but firm  push and making her lie back down. She obeyed, her body glowing with pleasure and her mind too lazy and carefree to think.

The man leaned over and she moaned, feeling something strangely hot and hard press against her lower bits. Rumpelstiltskin’s hand pulled on her chemise, practically ripping the fabric and he bared her left breast but she didn’t get a chance to protest against his rough handling of her clothes when his sinister mouth captured her nipple between his teeth, teasing it with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into the silky heat of his lips. His left hand squeezed her right buttock, strong fingers digging into the flesh and holding her flush against him.

Belle moaned, suddenly realizing that she felt both his hands on her, there was no way the thing pressed against her was… but his hips snapped forward, gliding through her slick flesh and creating delicious friction and she couldn’t finish the thought. His lips and fingers were truly doing magic to her, setting her nerves on fire once more as he licked and kissed every place of her he could reach, switching from one breast to the other and raking his fingers along her sides.

He rutted against her, pressing himself hard against her stomach and even without being prompted to do so, she wrapped her legs around him, digging her heels into his backside to urge him to thrust against her harder. He howled, trying to muffle the sound by hiding his face against her throat and licking the faint mark he left. It seemed that he wanted to mold their bodies together, grinding against her with reckless abandon like the rest of the world didn’t exist. All of a sudden, his body went rigid and he made a pained moan through gritted teeth, panting and splashing her lower belly with something wet and hot.

Rumpelstiltskin’s chest heaved and he moved back just a little not to crush her. The girl’s body vibrated with magic and to his surprise, she wasn’t absorbing his. She cracked one eye open and he thought she was going to shove him off or ask a billion questions but she just lifted her hand, gently pushing the damp hair out of his face and tucking the rebellious strand behind his ear. Her fingers curiously traced his lips and he snapped like he was going to bite them and she snatched her hand back with a giggle.

“I feel sleepy,” she confessed and the man blinked at her in confusion. Not ‘get off me’ or ‘you are disgusting’ or ‘why would you do such a thing, you filthy old man’? She was either a lunatic or… or he couldn’t decide what she was.

He snapped his fingers, rearranging their clothes and restoring them into perfect condition, mending the rips and the wet patches of fabric like they never existed. He offered her his hand, pulling her up but she still stumbled, nearly falling into his arms.

“Careful, dearie, or I’m going to think you tried to hug me,” he teased as she frowned at him. “Come on, I will show you to your room.”

“My room?” she sounded surprised and he cocked his head to the side.

“Is dungeon more to your liking?”

“Not really.”

“Then a room should be just fine.”

He guided her upstairs, dropping her off in front of the second door on the right in the East wing.

“If you need anything, wait till morning. If it’s a pressing need, call my name. Goodnight, dearie.”

He turned away but her voice stopped him.

“Rumpelstiltskin, wait.” He grinned at the sound of his name, spinning on his heels to find her looking at him with concern, her small white teeth worrying her plump bottom lips. “When will the potion’s side effects wear off?”

“We’ll discover that soon enough, won’t we?” he chuckled, clasping his hands together gleefully as he unhurriedly descended the stairs. He felt strangely light and carefree and idly wondered if he should confess to her that there was absolutely no potion in her mint tea, but decided against it. His life has just taken a quite fascinating turn and he couldn’t wait to see where it would lead them both.


End file.
